


In Her Own Time

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Maria needs a hug, Natasha Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha was sat against the arm of the couch. Her head was resting on her knees, drawn up and her arms were wrapped around her legs. She didn’t raise her head, didn’t look at Maria. In the dimness, Maria could see that Natasha Romanoff’s entire body was trembling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Her Own Time

She was a mile away from base, headed towards home, when the earth shuddered its accompaniment with a loud _boom_ , and Maria turned the car around before she had time to think. She only just had time to switch off the communicator as it began to come alive, likely with agents and media wanting to know just _what the hell was going on_ , and she wasn’t about to touch that until she knew for herself.

She got the answer as she skidded her car to a stop in front of the base, and stared in shock – both at the smoke rising from one now completely charred side, and a bewildered-looking man stood a few feet away, staring up at it.

Maria groaned, and stepped out of her car to approach him. “Stark, what the—“

“I’ll fix it!” he said, turning to her with his hands up. “Just a malfunction, I’ll—“

“Who else was in there?” she demanded.

She’d attended too many funerals lately.

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Just me,” he said, and Maria noticed the scratches on his face and the blood running down his arm. It didn’t seem too serious, and she sighed with a mixture of relief and aggravation as the fire and police departments arrived with the sirens blaring.

“You deal with this,” she said, tipping her chin at the news channels that had showed up along with emergency services. “Your experiment, your explanation.”

“Aw, mom,” he mock-pouted at her, and she fought back the urge to punch him in his injured arm.

“You’re the PR guy,” she said. “Just don’t tell them you’re Iron Man.”

Tony smirked, then grew sober as they both looked up at the smoldering ruins. “Sorry about this, Commander.”

“Nothing your millions can’t fix,” she joked, downplaying what could have happened to a lot of people. She glanced at Tony. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

He waved off a medic from his still-bleeding arm. “Yeah, me too.”

“Go home after, Tony.”

He made a face. “Do I have to?”

Maria grinned. “Director’s orders.”

“What Pepper’s gonna do to me is a lot worse than anything you could ever do.”

“I know.” She spun on her heel back towards her car. No one was hurt. The building could be fixed.

Still, she slumped against the steering wheel and allowed herself a moment to breathe. _So many_ people could’ve been hurt. So many had already been hurt, and she’d only been director for a year. They knew their missions, knew what they had signed up for, but Maria couldn’t help the guilt sometimes.

Turning her car back towards home, Maria waded through all of the pending communications. She answered a couple, deleted one or two without even responding, and then quietly issued one command.

“Call Romanoff.”

It barely had time to alert her before Natasha’s face appeared onscreen.

“Are you okay?”

Maria could tell she was scanning her for any sign of injuries. She smiled to herself.

“I was on my way back. One of Tony’s experiments went rogue. No one else was in the building, and he’s fine.”

“I am going to kill Stark.”

Maria chuckled. “I’m pretty sure Pepper’s going to get there first.”

“Then I will resurrect him and kill him again.”

“I really want to see that.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re all right?”

There was a slight tremor in the agent’s voice that no one else would’ve been able to hear; Maria had become well-tuned to it. She sat up a little straighter, and averted her eyes from the road long enough to meet Natasha’s.

“I’m fine. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Pizza?”

It was Natasha’s turn to chuckle. “You going to get half that disgusting ham and pineapple?”

“You know me so well. Half pepperoni for you?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha’s eyes were a little clouded. Maria could almost guarantee she hadn’t eaten yet; she was still wearing her SHIELD-issued tac.

“See you in about twenty, then.”

“Yep, see you.”

The comm ended, and Maria frowned a little.

***

Twenty-five minutes and a large pizza later, Maria took the elevator in Avengers Tower up to Natasha’s floor. She was so used to this path she could walk it in her sleep. Natasha wasn’t ready for them to move in together, she’d told Maria, and Maria had bitten her tongue and not pointed out that she spent every night in Natasha’s apartment _anyway_ , so what was the hold up?

Everything would happen in Black Widow’s time, Maria kept telling herself, and until then she was grateful for everything else. Grateful that the door slid open easily after the identification scan.

… not so grateful for the darkness that greeted her as she stepped over the threshold.

“Nat?” Maria called out.

Every nerve inside of her clicked alive when there was no answer. She put the pizza, and the drinks she’d bought at the convenience store, down on a side table next to the wall. Instantly Maria’s hands wrapped around the familiar weight of her gun as she steeled herself. The only light in the room was what came from the bathroom, and Maria let out an audible sigh of relief when she saw it illuminated on a mass of red hair.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Maria said, tucking her gun away and moving to the couch. “I didn’t—“

She stopped.

Natasha was sat against the arm of the couch. Her head was resting on her knees, drawn up and her arms were wrapped around her legs. She didn’t raise her head, didn’t look at Maria. In the dimness, Maria could see that Natasha Romanoff’s entire body was trembling.

Maria reached down and trailed light fingers through Natasha’s hair. She didn’t move except to almost-imperceptibly tilt herself into the touch.

This was good. She wasn’t too far just yet.

“Let’s brighten this place up a little bit, okay?” Maria said, her voice gentle. She pushed aggravation and worry out of her mind, focusing on what she recognized was happening. Focusing on Natasha.

She turned on a single lamp. Too much brightness too soon would send the situation further downward, and that wasn’t an experience Maria was prepared to deal with tonight.

She moved the pizza and drinks to the kitchen; it would keep till the morning if it had to. Pizza was versatile like that.

“That’s better,” Maria said casually, coming back to Natasha. She was still in the same position, and now Maria knelt down next to her, hand once again coming up to stroke her hair. “Hey, Nat, you with me, honey?”

No answer.

She moved her hand down to Natasha’s back, rubbing a little harder, circles over her shoulders. “Talk to me,” Maria demanded, keeping her voice low and soft. “I’m right here, Natasha, talk to me.”

“You could’ve died.” It was a whisper, and Maria’s heart lurched when Natasha raised her head and she saw the tears streaking from her brilliant green eyes.

“Could have, but didn’t,” Maria said. “I still have seven lives left.” She offered Natasha a lop-sided grin.

Natasha didn’t return it. “You could have _died_.” Her voice came out choked, and she gasped, lifting her face to the ceiling.

“Okay, okay,” Maria said. She leaned forward and took Natasha into her arms; she melted into Maria’s chest, under her chin, struggling for air as her body shook.

“It’s all right, Nat,” Maria said, kissing everywhere she could reach: Natasha’s hair, her temple, her shoulder. “I’m not dead, I’m right here, you’re all right.’

“I can’t _breathe_.”

“Yeah, you can,” Maria soothed. “Come on, _malyshka_ , in and out, you can do it. Slow and easy, that’s it, come on.”

She cupped the back of Natasha’s head with her hand, her thumb circling the fine hairs there as she felt Natasha take a couple of deep, shuddering gulps of air.

“Slow down, you’re all right.” She could feel Natasha’s panicked tears soaking the front of her shirt; Maria swallowed past the lump in her throat and continued to stroke her, now running the palms of her hands down the length of Natasha’s back and up again.

These attacks weren’t anything new. The first time it had happened Maria had been dumbfounded. It had seemed to her that Natasha Romanoff never really panicked, was incapable of actually knowing _fear_. But then Maria had come home (it was home to her, whether Natasha accepted it or not) to find Natasha curled up in a ball in the corner of her (their) bedroom.

She refused to talk to the SHIELD psychologists; Maria had stopped suggesting it. Natasha always balked at sharing her feelings; it was enough that she talked to Maria about it, she’d said. Maria didn’t really want to accept that and had attempted throwing her weight as director around.

She’d slept in her own apartment, alone, for a week.

Natasha’s arms were around her neck, now; Maria squeezed her gently. Her breaths had evened out, still hitched occasionally with a sob, and Maria kissed her cheek.

“You haven’t even changed,” Maria said, the tiniest note of disapproval in her voice. “You know you feel better when you take off your uniform at the end of the day, honey.”

“Yeah.”

“And I need to get out of these heels,” Maria said. “I only wear them because I know you like it.” There was no smile against her neck, and Maria sighed.

“So I think I’m going to put on something more comfortable. You want to?”

“Yeah.” Natasha nodded.

“All right then, come on.” Maria moved to stand up, but Natasha’s arms stayed locked around her.

 _Oh_.

Maria cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was a little higher, a little more tender. “You want me to help, _malyshka_?”

Natasha nodded again.

“All right, up we go.”

It always surprised Maria how easily Natasha fit into her arms, as she stood up with the woman cradled like a child against her chest. Maybe it was the height difference, but it always seemed to just work. And in the moments like these when Natasha seemed to lose herself, that’s exactly what she and Maria both needed: something that just worked.

Maria carried her girlfriend into the bedroom and settled her onto the bed.

“You all right here for a minute?” she asked, her hand resting on Natasha’s cheek. Natasha’s eyes were unfocused as she looked up at Maria.

“Yeah.”

Natasha was always like that at first, after the initial panic. Either wordless, or short, clipped sentences that told Maria the former assassin was still tucked firmly inside her own head and would reveal herself, once again, in the Black Widow’s own time.

Sometimes, it would stay that way, and they’d go to sleep with Natasha pulled away from Maria in the bed. That would hurt, always did, but in the morning Maria would wake up with Natasha curled into her side, one leg thrown haphazardly over hers. As if she’d been afraid that during the night Maria would leave. And when Natasha woke she would be back to her sarcastic, smirking self. Maria recognized that as a need to pretend that nothing had happened, and she wouldn’t press. Natasha Romanov could rarely be forced into anything.

But then, other times… she would talk. Sometimes it would be while they were laying naked together in bed, bodies sweaty and sticking to each other in post-bliss heat. Natasha would just start talking. Memories that she _thought_ were hers from the Red Room but that she could never be sure of. Missions she’d gone on. People she’d killed and why. It wasn’t exactly the romantic cuddling and conversation that Maria expected, but she got _that_ more than enough, and if there were times she had to play the priest in Natasha’s confessional, well, all the other times more than made up for it.

Then there were the moments when Natasha looked so impossibly small, staring up at Maria as she stripped off her suit jacket, pants, and shirt in favor of a pair of old SHIELD Academy sweatpants and a teeshirt. She was breathing better, Maria noticed, more calmly and with intention, as if she was concentrating on every inhale and exhale. Controlling herself, but just barely, since her hands were twisted in her lap. But Maria knew that look in her eyes, the one she’d seen only a few times in the months they’d been together.

“Want to put your pajamas on?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

Maria grinned slightly. She’d never quite understand why she liked hearing Natasha say “please” so much. She rummaged through the drawers until she settled onto some clothes in the bottom one, turning around and holding them up.

“How about these?”

Natasha shook her head. “Other shirt.”

Maria laughed, and reached for the Captain America shirt that was slung over the desk chair. “Surely you don’t mean this one?” she teased, and was rewarded with one of Natasha’s low laughs.

“Yeah, that one.”

It was some sort of running joke between Natasha and Cap that Maria hadn’t ever really been a part of, but that was okay. The friendship between innocent Captain America and former assassin Natalia Romanova had been good for them both, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the director of SHIELD. Natasha had been resistant to Avengers Tower, had felt awkward during the communal breakfasts and late-night viewings of stupid movies, but she was gradually adjusting, thanks in no small part to Cap and Maria herself. It was strange to think of all of them as a family, and harder to think of losing any of them.

Maria pulled her loose hair up into the bun that she knew Natasha liked for some reason, when things were like this, before she made her way back to the bed. “Up we go,” she said yet again, and hoisted Natasha to her feet so that she could unzip the front of her suit and work her arms out of it.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, noting the goosebumps that rose on Natasha’s arms from the sudden cool air of the bedroom. Maria rubbed her warm hands up and down Natasha’s shoulders for a moment. In seconds she had tugged the Captain America shirt over Natasha’s head and pushed her arms through.

“I’m tired,” Natasha said, and shuffled forward in her panties and shirt to lay her head on Maria’s shoulder.

“I know, malyshka,” Maria said, kissing her cheek. “You can rest all night; I’ll take care of you.”

She squatted down and encouraged Natasha to lift up first one foot, then the other, so that Maria could slide up the red boxer shorts. Finished, Maria stood and smiled, lightly pecking Natasha’s cheek and twining one finger around a bouncy red curl.

“All right?” she said, thinking how infinitely adorable her girlfriend looked.

Natasha nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Her cheeks were pink, and Maria knew there was an inner turmoil; Natasha was just getting used to being taken care of, especially like this.

“Pizza?” Maria suggested, and laughed when Natasha’s stomach suddenly growled. She patted it. “Someone’s hungry.”

“Stop,” Natasha said, batting away her hand. She leaned on Maria again; Maria kissed the top of her head. “Can we watch a movie?”

“Yup.” Maria slipped her arm around Natasha’s waist and took them both into the living room. “Any particular request?”

Natasha shrugged and sat on the couch. “Just whatever.” She stared off into space, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

Not quite out of the woods yet then, Maria thought as she went to retrieve the pizza, drinks, and some plates and napkins. She sat down next to Natasha and spread everything out on the coffee table.

“I’m not sure I know that one,” she remarked, and Natasha rolled her eyes at her. They were still cloudy; it would probably be morning before the clarity returned, Maria knew. She longed to understand what was going on in the agent’s head, but Maria stayed quiet, simply putting pizza on plates and pouring out drinks, distributing napkins.

She flipped on the television and cycled through the channels before settling on a Disney movie. Ordinarily Natasha would raise an eyebrow at her; this time she made a startled noise of approval, and Maria grinned softly. She moved to start eating her pizza, but stopped with the slice halfway to her mouth when she noticed Natasha watching her.

“What is it, malyshka?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Natasha shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied, and Maria pursed her lips. “But can I…” She gestured towards Maria.

Understanding, Maria shifted so that her legs were stretched out on the couch, and she grunted a little for effect as Natasha climbed into her lap, back pressed against Maria’s front. Maria draped her arm loosely over Natasha’s stomach.

“Better?” she said, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

Natasha hummed and picked up her pizza. Maria took that as proof that yes, things were better.

The television played in the background as they ate, Maria occasionally petting Natasha’s hair and telling her little snippets of her day, being careful not to mention the explosion, or anything else that might send Natasha spiraling into another attack. It was awkward for them both to try to eat while cuddled up together, but they made it work. That seemed to be the recurring theme with whatever they were doing: they made it work.

“Ice cream?” Natasha said after they had eaten their fill of dinner, and Maria shook her head.

“You ate the last of it two days ago.”

She could almost _feel_ Natasha pouting as she said, “Buy more,” and Maria snorted.

“Your wish is my command, Nat.”

Natasha turned so that her cheek rested against Maria’s shoulder.

“You could die.”

Maria held her tighter. “So could you.”

They’d never really given words to it. Never talked about it, even in those moments when the world around them was dark and they whispered “I love you” as they fell asleep, naked and tangled together between the sheets. But they knew it every time Maria went off to work, every time Natasha suited up with a grim look, only to smile affectionately as she kissed Maria goodbye. Every day there was the chance of one of them not returning.

Natasha snaked her arms around Maria’s neck again; her breathing was slightly ragged as the director of SHIELD wiggled them into position lying on the couch. She reached down, giving Natasha’s bottom a few comforting pats and making soothing noises against her ear.

PTSD, the SHIELD psychologist had said. Panic disorder, anxiety. Perhaps slight regression due to the lack of any sort of affection or kindness as a child.

Maria had nodded, and then the session had moved on to what it was really about: her.

It didn’t take long for the heaviness that told Maria Natasha was well on her way to going to sleep. Her own legs were aching, and she shifted, finally resorting to ever-so-gently nudging Natasha’s side.

“Let’s go to the bed, honey,” she whispered in response to Natasha’s grumble.

At the end of the day, she thought to herself, not explosions, but hugs.

“Don’t talk so much,” Natasha muttered without opening her eyes, and she sounded so small and yet like herself that Maria nearly laughed in relief.

“Want snuggles.”

Natasha Romanov was asleep under her chin. Stranger things had happened, Maria thought, but none happier (reasonably), or better.

Things could be warmer though.

Maria reached up to the back of the couch and pulled down the blanket that was there, draping it around herself and Natasha. There’d be no talk of memories or the Red Room tonight.

Natasha sighed with contentment, nuzzling herself deeper and slipping one hand under Maria’s shirt, just at her waist. She loved the feel of her skin, Maria knew, even when it wasn’t sexual.

“Love you, Maria.” Her body was fluid, relaxed. _Finally_.

Mission accomplished. Maria kissed her forehead.

“Love you too, malyshka.”


End file.
